


why do I feel like I’m choking lately?

by quirkyusername



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Michael Mell Has Two Moms, Other, Selectively Mute Michael Mell, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, look at these great tags, probably is not as sad as it sounds, selective mutism, yes I did read sm fan fictions and decide that I would write one, yes this is just me putting my issues into a fictional character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 20:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkyusername/pseuds/quirkyusername
Summary: Trigger warnings: depicted self-harm, suicidal thoughts, homophobia, homophobic slurs, ableism, self-hatred, panic attacks, bullying.I hope I mentioned all of the possible triggers. If I didn’t, let me know and I’ll add them.





	why do I feel like I’m choking lately?

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on some of my experiences with having sm. Every person with SM will have different experiences and go at different paces with being able to talk to certain people. I just really wanted to make a fanfiction that was written by someone who has personal experience with it, because I haven’t seen many that were (which is fine, at least they are getting people aware of what SM is!). 
> 
> Also, I’m not a skilled writer, but I really enjoy writing to let out my emotions. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated! 
> 
> And any comment you wish to make is also appreciated a ton, even if you don’t have much to say!

I bet that at first glance I seem like the guy who is always chill and unafraid. I'd like to think of myself as being those things too. 

And when I'm around Jeremy or Christine that's basically me. I embarrass my friends and I _definitely_ embarrass myself. 

But still, there's this weight hanging around my throat, and sometimes it feels like it's being pulled so tight that I can't even breathe. My throat burns and it's as if I have something stuck in there, and I can't move. I'm frozen, as if I think this anxiety will go away if I stay still— like danger will think that I died or something. 

In first grade, my moms knew that something was wrong with me. 

I would be fine with them and Jeremy, and I would laugh and joke with them all, but I seemingly refused to speak to anyone else. 

They asked their friends what they should do about my disobedience, and their desperation led them to doing some things that I'm sure as hell didn't help. I was locked in my room, I was grounded (they might as well have called it 'not being allowed to see Jeremy'), and I had my Nintendo taken away until I agreed to talk to my teachers at the very least. 

Of course, I never did that. 

And eventually my mama spoke to a colleague at her job, and he mentioned that he has a relative with the same issue. 

Finally, I got the diagnosis of Selective Mutism. 

And it's sort of an ironic name, because it damn well doesn't feel like I'm simply selecting to not talk. I had Nintendogs to feed, god dammit, and I wouldn't just selfishly starve them because I didn't feel like talking. (And my moms couldn't apologize to me enough for trying to punish me into talking. I love my moms and they're great parents, they just didn't ever know about this weird-ass anxiety disorder.)

So basically, there are selective places or situations where I don't talk. But I think that they could give it a better name so I don't sound like some prick that enjoys being a mute and not participating in class. (You know how much it sucks when you're the only one who seems to know the answer to a problem, _which is very rare,_ but then you can't even say anything?) 

Anyway, long story short, Jeremy's not in school today, and even in 12th grade my sad ass still doesn't like to speak to teachers. But hey, at least I can speak to students now. That's an upgrade if I do say so myself. 

Usually I can get through the day without having an issue with my SM, since my teachers all know that I'm that one mute boy ( _pretend he's not even there, why did I get this troubled child in my class, it's a burden for me to have to work around this burden)._

But there's a substitute in English today. 

And I get it, everyone loves subs because it means we can work on a packet with friends or watch some low-budget movie and take a much needed nap. But for me, subs are a living hell. 

A new adult who doesn't know that trying to force me to talk may cause me to cry and make everyone around me feel uncomfortable? Groovy. 

Attendance goes a little rough. I simply raise my hand when the sub calls on me, and he gives a little groan and says, "I can't see well, next time speak up, boy!" Which is always fun, especially when the entire class gives me a knowing smirk. 

But then the sub tells us that we are actually going to be learning today, and you'd think that these kids are actually dying with how distressed they sound. Okay, maybe I mope a bit too, but it's a Friday and it's the last class of the day, so who can blame me?

We all get to work on using "big kid" words like unrequited (more like "words that hit too close to home") and applying them to the book The Sun Also Rises, which _yeah_ , I didn't read. But I read the summary online and even watched a YouTube video explaining the basic plot of the book, so I'm basically an expert. The class is running smoothly—if people throwing paper airplanes at each other is what "smoothly" entails— until the teacher starts calling on students. 

I could feel my breath speeding up, and I'm probably starting to sweat but I am not going to check—I'm not going to move. I try to stay as still as possible, not wanting to call any attention to myself (well, no more attention than I get from wearing a bright red hoodie with a pride patch). I just wish that Jeremy was here next to me. I know how fucking sad it is that I have to depend on him to speak for me, but I just can't handle it right now. 

My week hasn't been going great and I just want to leave school and cry in my bed until the weekend is over. 

But of course, I can't do that right now. There are 15 minutes left and obviously this teacher won't let us out of class early. 

I fidget with a string hanging on the bottom of my hoodie and read over my words in my head. I'm trying to make sense of what I wrote but everything is getting jumbled and I can't think right now. 

Fuck this teacher. 

No, it's not his fault. He's just doing his job. I know that, but I'm still going to be mad at him. Because otherwise I'd have to be mad at myself. And I can't do that right now. I really, _really_ can't do that. 

"Michael Mell? Would you read one of your sentences?" 

And there they are. The cursed words. 

I can't look up from my paper, I can't even make any movement at all. I'm just stuck looking at some dumb sentences that I can't even read right now. 

My throat aches as if it's trying to let something— _anything_ —through. My entire body feels like it's tensed. My mind is going too fast to keep up with and I can't form any clear or coherent strings of thought. 

All I can think is _I wish Jeremy was here I wish Jeremy was here I wish Jeremy was here I wish I was dead I wish Jeremy was here I wish everyone would stop staring at me I wish Jeremy was here I wish I—_

"Michael can't talk, Mr. Frank." I'm both grateful that someone spoke for me, and angry that no one knows that I do talk. I can. I just... can't right now. 

"Yeah, he's shy." I guess that's sort of right, but it's more than that. And I'm not afraid of doing stupid shit in public with my friends. Does that mean I'm not shy? Or what? 

"Do you think that he doesn't talk because he was abused or something?" It's said so the teacher doesn't hear, but they didn't care not to say it in front of me. (It's like they think that maybe I'm deaf as well as mute.)

That's the best one, I think. Thinking that I don't talk because I was abused or something else awful happened to me? At least then I'd have a reason for not talking. But no, it's just me being weak and overreacting. 

"Do you think that it's because he has two dykes taking care of him? That'd scare me into silence too." A white boy with Adidas clothes snickers with his other white clone. Why do all these white boys wear the same outfits? 

And god, I'm so over the bigotry of this school. It's enough that they gay-bash me without even knowing for sure that I'm gay, but then they go on to make fun of my moms. If the teacher wasn't here I'd take that boy's stupid Adidas backpack and chuck it out the window. 

"I don't understand. Does he still do the work for this class?" I get that I look like I don't want to talk to anyone right now, but please please don't talk about me like I'm not in the damn room. 

"I guess so. He's not in the special needs class, but I don't know why not." 

Stupid. Fucking. White. Boy. (I want to burn his shoes like how he probably burned his Nike shoes after the corporation said that black people are human beings.) Fuck this boy for being homophobic and ableist. Being selectively mute doesn't mean that I have a learning disability, or anything like that. And if it did, there's nothing wrong with needing a little extra help. That doesn't mean that someone isn't worth respecting. It doesn't make someone less human. I wish I could talk right now because I'd have some choice words to say to this guy. 

But all I can do is keep staring at my notebook and fiddling with the string that I only made longer. 

The class carries on with reading their sentences, and I let out a quiet shaky breath. 

I take one more glance at my words and I realize that I didn't make a sentence for one of them:

_taciturn_  
/ˈtasəˌtərn/  
adjective: (of a person) reserved or uncommunicative in speech; saying little. 

If I wasn't on the edge of a panic attack right now, I think I would've laughed. But right now I just kind of feel like crying. Or dying. Dying would be fine right now. 

_Stop thinking like that. This is your own fault. If you'd just talk then you'd be able to feel safe in class. No more breakdowns in class, no more uncomfortable stares from everyone, no more guilt for not being able to talk to someone, ("it feels like you hate me", "am I not good enough for you, is that why you're not talking to me?") no more not speaking a single word all day, no more small instances that keep building until you lose your fucking mind._

Stop it. I need to shut my brain up. 

I press my nails into the skin on my right wrist and it helps, like it usually does. 

I don't need to draw blood, but it almost always happens anyways. And plus, it helps remind me that I'm alive and breathing and I'm _here_ (even if I don't particularly wish to be here _or_ alive right now). 

I start to feel like I'm slowly coming back into my own body, and I just focus on breathing at the rate of a normal human.

I see a lot of movement around me, and that's when I realize that the bell rang when I was having a mental breakdown. I gather up all of my stuff and pull my sleeves down as far as they'll go. I avoid making eye contact with anyone that's still in class, and especially not the substitute teacher. I need to gather myself in the bathroom before I go home, which sucks because I want to just leave this stupid school. But I can't have anyone else seeing my tears or my bleeding skin. 

As soon as I push open the bathroom door I rush over to the sink and turn it on. I silently thank whoever is watching out for me that the water is actually cold today. It helps to cool down my warm face. 

My pants pocket starts vibrating and I quickly realize that it's my phone buzzing. I usually turn the sound back on as soon as school's over, but I guess I was a little distracted. 

Of course it's Jeremy, why wouldn't he call me right now of all times? _He always calls you after school when he's not there, you know he worries about you. You and your dependency issues. What if one day he finds someone better to hang out with and he leaves you (again)? How will you survive (another time)?_

I shake myself from my thoughts and check all of the stalls for anyone that might hear me. Phone calls are sort of anxiety-provoking for me, and I don't really know why. I guess it's a part of my stupid disorder. I take a few deep breaths before I answer the phone. 

"H-hey?" I say it as a question for some reason. 

"Hey Michael! I was just watching Animal Planet and they were doing a documentary on polar bears, I think you'd really like it. Maybe we could watch it some time together, what do you think? Anyways, how're you doing?" 

He's the one that's actually sick, why is he asking me that? Why didn't I call him to see if he was doing okay? It's always _him_ that does it. I'm so selfish. 

"I'm good, how are you feeling?"

"After puking my brains out the whole morning, I surprisingly feel a lot better. I even ate some toast and kept it down. Are you sure you're good, you kind of sound... off?" Great, leave it to him to be able to tell when I'm in post-anxiety attack mode. 

"I'm sure, it was just kind of a weird day, and..." I trail off as a guy comes into the bathroom and heads to a urinal while glancing at me. 

"Hey, you're that weird kid that can't talk, aren't you?"

And I should make a snarky comment back to him about how he's that one kid who fell down the stairs and cried, but for some damn reason I am stuck. It's like I'm back in that classroom. 

I think Jeremy's talking, but I can't focus on anything except this peeing asshole right now. And maybe I should focus on breathing too. That'd be good. 

"Are you talking to your little boyfriend? He wasn't in school today, was he? How did the poor little homo manage? Oh that's right, you wouldn't even talk to anyone and just cried in your corner." Of course it's rude that he called me a homo, but the fact that he's talking to me while peeing is way worse. 

Bullying is basically a part of the school culture. You haven't truly been a Student™️ until you've been made fun of at least once. Jeremy and I are definitely official students, we even have our own backpacks signed by a previous school bully (who is now kind of our friend and also openly bisexual. And isn't internalized homophobia just a bitch?). 

I guess I was spacing out, because the next thing I know I'm being pushed against the sink, and Stairs-Crier (I don't remember what his name even is) is spitting in my face. 

"Are you enjoying the view, faggot? What a freak, he's a mute and a pervert." He gives me one last push before he swaggers out of the bathroom. 

I stare blankly at the door as I try to process all of the emotions that are lurking just underneath my skin. 

"-ael? Are you still there?" Oh right, I was talking to Jer before I was rudely interrupted. Man, it's taking a lot out of me to switch from not talking to talking back to not talking. I have to respond to him now before I lose the courage. 

"I'm here, hi. Sorry, someone—"

"Yeah I heard him. What the fuck was that? Did he hurt you? Are you okay? You're still at school, right? Do you want me to come to the school?" 

"Dude, I'm fine. Nothing happened, it's just some guy from our English class. You know—"

"Did something happen in English?"

"Okay, it's a bit rude that you keep interrupting the SM kid." I say it in a joking tone, but Jeremy doesn't seem like he's in the mood. 

"I'm coming over to your house. You're going to talk to me about what happened, and I know it's easier for you to talk to me in person. "

"Jer, buddy, you're still sick. And besides, it wasn't that big of a deal. I'm fine now, okay?" I hope my panic doesn't show as much through the phone. 

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of me totally coming over to your house right now."

"Jeremy, I'm still at school." I fiddle with the string at the bottom of my hoodie. It's a bit of a nervous habit. 

"Well then you better hurry up before I use your spare key. See ya." And he hangs up. 

Okay, so if I hurry, I can get there a few minutes before him and... do what? Lock the door? He has the key to my house. I could just lock myself in my bathroom, but I know that he's not past waiting all night for me to open the door. When Jeremy wants something, he will stop at almost nothing to get it. 

I guess I don't really have a choice in this matter. To be honest, it would be nice to see him. I don't know how good it'd be for me to be alone right now. 

But first, I have to clean my wrist off. And quickly, before anyone else comes into the bathroom to torment me. 

Luckily, the blood is mostly dried by now, and I didn't get that much on the inside of my hoodie sleeve. I grab a few brown paper towels and put them under a bit of water before wiping at the wounds. I check my face one last time in the mirror for any sign of tear marks or blotchiness, but luckily I'm not a messy crier. 

After throwing out the paper towels (rip environment) I head out of the bathroom and make my way to my car. 

And I don't really care what anyone says, because my PT Cruiser is tight as hell. Not only is it spacious and comfortable, but I think it looks wicked cool too. 

Maybe Jeremy's right, I guess I really do use 90's slang a lot. I assume it makes sense why I get harassed for it then. 

_If you didn't ever talk you wouldn't have to worry about being made fun of for what you say._

Music. I need music right now. I manage to unlock my car door on the first try and I hop into the seat and start the car. The radio turns on and War by Bob Marley & The Wailers starts playing as I pull out of the school parking lot. 

I'm not really in a Bob Marley mood. He reminds me too much of rebelling against what's wrong with the world, and I feel like he'll know (even from the grave) that I'm too scared to speak up against injustice. 

_Bigotry thrives on silence._

I fumble with the dial of the radio and look through different stations.

All I'm getting is country music, commercials, and early 2000's pop songs. 

And then that one damn song starts playing. 

_Or you can start speaking up_  
_Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do  
_ _And they settle 'neath your skin_

I don't even know why, but whenever this song plays I just want to scream. 

Because yeah, sometimes speaking up _can_ hurt you more than words do. Ever heard of hate crimes? I've never heard such a privileged lyric in my life. Isn't this song about a gay friend coming out? And she's telling them and everyone who is LGBT+ that they should come out. Did she ever consider that maybe people will be killed for coming out? 

_Say what you wanna say_  
_And let the words fall out  
_ _Honestly I wanna see you be brave_

____

____

Am I not strong enough? Is that all this is? Is all of this just me not trying hard enough to speak? Maybe if I pushed myself more, if I was just less weak...

____

I turn the radio off and I just try to focus on driving. 

____

Not the intrusive thoughts that are trying to take over my mind, not the Bob Marley air freshener that I swear is laughing at me, and not the itchiness of my wrists. 

____

Just driving. 

____

____

After what feels like an hour, I finally pull into my driveway. And sure enough, Jeremy is already there, just sitting on the chair on my front porch. He looks a little pale (more than usual), and his hair is unkempt. 

____

I turn off my car and try to mentally prepare myself. I've been having to do that a lot lately. 

____

I step out of the car and Jer's standing up now and watching me with this sad and caring smile. I am totally not ready to deal with this right now. Or ever. 

____

"I can't believe that you actually showed up to my house." When I reach the top of the steps we do our Best Friend Handshake™️. 

____

"Hey, just be glad that I didn't use your key and go through your old yearbooks." 

____

"You ass. You know I'm still trying to block out my emo phase." I give Jeremy a weak push and unlock the front door. 

____

"Trust me, Micha, we all are."

____

We walk in a sort of uncomfortable silence down to my basement. I turn on my N64 and grab the controllers as Jer plops down on his beanbag chair. 

____

"We should... talk. Before we play." 

____

"Or we can pretend that nothing happened and just play Mario Kart 64?" I ask hopefully. 

____

"Michael."

____

I always get my hopes up for him to ignore problems, and he never does. I really have to stop doing that. 

____

I groan as I fall onto my beanbag and put my hood up. I consider pulling the hoodie strings and hiding my face completely, but I guess I should at least show a little decency.

____

"The guy that I heard over the phone... what was he talking about? What happened in English?"

____

I guess there's no way to get out of this. I'll just tell him and we can move on. 

____

"It's really not a big deal. There was just a sub today and... you know." 

____

I've been friends with Jeremy since before I was even diagnosed with SM. He's basically been my voice for me until I was able to talk to more people. Besides the "squipcident" two years ago, he's always there for me when I need him. As a result of our closeness, he probably knows more about me than I do. I came out to him as gay in 8th grade (but I'm pretty sure he knew way before that, since I would always mention guy actors or singers to him), I cried to him one night while hella high about my self harm habits, and I even managed to talk about what happened at the Halloween party with him. 

____

But even though he already knows about all of my problems, it doesn't mean that it's any easier to talk about them. 

____

"Did they try to get you to talk?" Even if I want to lie, it would be so hard to when looking at that damn puppy-dog face. 

____

"Yeah, he did. And obviously I couldn't manage to say anything. I couldn't even talk to any of the students, it was so sad." I chuckle self-deprecatingly. (How do I even laugh like I hate myself? I guess since I always hate myself it's just my normal laugh?)

____

"Micha, you can't blame yourself for not being able to talk. It's okay to—" And something must snap in me. I don't know why, but I get so mad. And I think this time I acknowledge that it's me that I'm mad at. 

____

"No, it's _not_ okay Jeremy, nothing is fucking okay. Not the teacher asking if I'm special needs, not the students laughing at me and making fun of my moms and blaming them for something that's my own damn fault, not the fact that I can't even nod my fucking head at the sub and instead I sit there and cry and have a breakdown and rip my skin apart and... and when I finally can leave and I think that I can relax, some douchebag calls me a mute faggot and, wow, real original isn't it? But still it fucking hurts and then he pushes me away when he leaves and I can't help but think about that night when you pushed me out of the way and how maybe if I just would talk, you wouldn't have left me, but maybe it's just everything about me that you hated and I get that but I just want to be normal and I know that'll never happen and I really honestly don't mind except when these assholes make me feel like shit. And then that damn brave song comes on and I remember how people sing it to me sometimes and not even always in a mean way but it makes me feel like I'm not good enough unless I can speak and I'm not worth anything when I can't talk and sometimes I just want to fucking shout to everyone or to no one about this damn sword stuck in my throat and how I wish it would come out or just let me swallow it and die already, maybe I should've stayed in that bathroom when I started seeing smoke. Maybe if I, if I, if..." 

____

What the fuck am I saying? 

____

I can't look at Jeremy, I'm too afraid of what I'll see. 

____

I can't stop picking at the skin around my nails as I try to find my composure. I need to fix this somehow. I don't want him to leave again. 

____

"I. Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on a self-pity tangent. Especially when I know that you're still getting over your stomach bug. God I'm so selfish, you came all the way over here and I just shoved all of this onto you. Just forget about it, we can just play games."

____

I wait a few seconds, but I don't hear a response. 

____

I didn't think that I could be any more worried, but here we are. 

____

I finally gain the courage to glance at Jeremy, and I see he's... is he _crying?_

____

"J-Jer? Are you okay? Oh god, I didn't mean to make you feel more guilty for what happened. It was two years ago and you apologized so much, I should be over it."

____

"Michael. Stop for a second. I just, I need to think for a bit. I, wow. You..." He puts his head in his hands and I guess he's trying to figure out what was just screamed at him. 

____

I keep ripping skin off the side of my nails and I draw a bit of blood. It's sort of grounding and it lets me focus on something other than my impending doom. 

____

"Thank you for telling me all of this, Michael."

____

What. 

____

I was not expecting that response. I think I was expecting almost anything but this. 

____

"Wh-You-Huh?" I don't even know what to say to him. What am I supposed to say? I'm not exactly the most skilled at social interaction, so I haven't been debriefed on what to say when your friend thanks you for yelling in his face. 

____

"I wasn't expecting you to tell me everything that happened today, so— it's great obviously! But, it was just a lot. Micha, you go through so much shit and trying to deal with it yourself is probably what leads to you hurting yourself. 

____

"No matter what, I want you to always text me or call me when you're feeling like this. Okay? Even if I'm sick or sad or whatever. Please promise me that."

____

"Jer... that's not good for you to have to worry about me all the time. You have social anxiety too and you need to focus on your mental health. You shouldn't have to take care of me too." Jeremy stares at me weirdly for a second before nodding slightly. 

____

"I know, Michael. You're right. I think maybe you should consider seeing a therapist again. I know it didn't work out last time, but maybe you'll find one that's right for you. And you still can vent to me and have a shoulder to cry on. But I'm just... I'm afraid that maybe I won't be enough. That I can't tell you the right things. It's a lot of pressure to put on someone, and it's not your fault that you need someone to talk to. I'm really glad that you can talk to me. But... you know?" 

____

"Yeah, I get it. I was thinking that maybe I'd try to get a therapist online or something, since I couldn't talk to my last one. I think it'd be easier to actually tell them the truth. And Jeremy, I really fucking appreciate you being here for me through everything. You're super rad." 

____

He leans toward me and wraps his lanky arms around me. I don't hesitate to do the same. 

____

"It's the least I could do after leaving you like an absolute Chad™️ sophomore year," he says while moving back from the hug to look at me. "I know that it doesn't change anything, but please just let me give my whole apology speech. 

____

"I'm so sorry for everything I did to you. You were doing so well and you were almost ready to start talking to your Social Studies teacher and then I ruined all of your progress. Not to mention you relapsed and almost ki _l_... And I'm sorry that I wasn't there today in school to help you. I know it's not my fault I got sick, but I still feel awful and I just want you to know that I'd give anything to go back and be there for you. Your Selective Mutism doesn't make you any less of an amazing person. I couldn't have asked for a better best friend to have, and I love you so much, dude." 

____

And now he's crying again and I'm crying again and we hug again for a few seconds. 

____

"You're here for me now, Jer. That's what really matters." I give him a genuine smile and he lets out a short laugh. 

____

"Dude, that was so sappy. I didn't know you had it in you," he smiles before his face gets solemn again.  
"Can I see your arms? I just want to check that they're not too deep or anything."

____

"Fine, Dr. Heere. It was just my nails so they're not bad though." 

____

I pull up my sleeves and reveal the frantic scratches over top of pale thin scars on my right wrist. Jeremy inspects them like some kind of detective before grabbing my hand and standing us up. 

____

"I want to wash them and put something over them."

____

I follow behind him into my bathroom and I sit on the toilet seat as he grabs the first aid kit from under the sink. He washes his hands before standing me back up and carefully washing my wounds. He grabs a clean towel and meticulously dries around each scratch before taking a dressing out of the kit and wrapping it around my right wrist. I doubt that they'll get infected, but I let him do all of this because I know he worries. It's sweet, really, and I appreciate that he does these things, since I would never do it myself. 

____

"Can you try to remember to change your dressing this time every once in a while? For me?" Jeremy gives me those puppy eyes again and it's like he knows how well those work on me. 

____

"Anything for you, my majesty. Now, can we go play Mario Kart before I throw up from this healthy display of masculinity? It's too much, even for my little gay heart." I pretend to faint and King Jeremiah just barely manages to catch me. By catch, I actually mean he lets me fall slowly instead of quickly, and we both tumble to the bathroom floor with stupid grins on our faces. 

____

"Uh, Michael?" Jeremy's voice is softer than usual. I sit up a bit and look at him. 

____

"Yeah?" He looks like he's very pensive and is considering what he's going to say. 

____

"I call Peach," he says before bolting up from the floor and racing towards the N64. 

____

Towards my N64. 

____

"Oh hells no, you know that I'm always Peach!" I pull myself up from the floor and when I reach the beanbags, Jeremy attacks me with a plushie Yoshi. 

____

"Oh Mikey, why don't you play little old me anymore? I'm just a wee dinoturtle who's looking for a home." Jeremy's Yoshi voice sounds somehow worse than I ever would have imagined it to be. He puts the dinosaur's hands over his eyes and makes him fake-sob. 

____

"First of all, is that thing on his back a shell? Or is it a saddle? Is he just a dinosaur or some weird turtlesaur crossbreed? And secondly, I will always appreciate my trans male king Yoshi, laying eggs and slaying looks, but Peach just feels faster in game, so that's the tea." Plushy-Yoshi hangs his head in defeat before being flung back to the corner of my bed. 

____

"Look at you, finally using some millennial lingo! Tea, sister!" Jeremy puts his hand up for me to high five and I have never felt more inclined to slap this boy upside the head. 

____

"You're on thin ice, buddy. First you try to snatch my Peach, then you go and snatch my wig. I am disgusted." 

____

Jer pushes me gently while snickering, and as we grab the controllers and fall back into our usual rhythm, I feel like everything will be okay. 

____

It's okay that I can't talk to everyone yet. And there are gonna be days where I hate that with every fiber of my being, but right now I'm sort of okay with it. Maybe in college I'll even be able to talk to almost everyone that I meet. I got so close before, I feel like I can do it again.

____

Maybe that stupid Brave song had a point. It really hurts me to say that. So I'm gonna just pretend that I never had that thought and instead watch Jeremy come in last place on the track Moo Moo Farm. 

____

Yeah, I'll be alright.

____

**Author's Note:**

> The song Michael was mentioning is Brave by Sara Bareilles by the way. She has a beautiful voice and I’m sure she’s a great person, the song just brings back bad memories for me cause I’m dumb. 
> 
> Also, the title is from the song The Answer from the musical The Black Suits written by Joe Iconis. 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this messy story.


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